


on choosing.

by harakiridaddy



Series: on choosing one's own name [2]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, trans waverly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24599179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harakiridaddy/pseuds/harakiridaddy
Summary: Nicole makes a decision.
Relationships: Waverly Earp & Nicole Haught, Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Series: on choosing one's own name [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778215
Comments: 14
Kudos: 137





	on choosing.

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to Heck.   
> As it will become evident, it was inspired by her and by the recent political movement towards penal abolitionism.   
> ACAB.

It’s slow, at first.  
Waverly doesn’t even realize it, really, and she feels guilty for it, afterwards.  
Not much she can do, if she’s honest with herself.   
Not much she could’ve done, either.  
***  
“You’re not going to work today?”   
Wynonna Earp shakes her head, eyes half closed as she stares at her toast.   
“We’re not opening the bar today”.  
Waverly snorts.  
“You guys are never open”.   
Wynonna grunts, rolling her eyes.  
“You’re just mad I don’t work with Nicole anymore,” she says matter of factly.  
(Waverly is a little sad about it, really.   
She doesn’t trust either of them to take care of themselves, though she guesses she can’t trust either of them to take care of each other, either).  
She just shrugs.   
“I’m glad you have a real job,” she says honestly. “Everyone knows Nedley was just looking out for you”.  
Wynonna lets out a low chuckle.  
“Off you go,” she pushes Waverly’s hip lightly, “go do your… archiving”.  
Waverly smiles.  
***  
Nicole texts her, as she always does, and Waverly grins when she asks if she’s taken her pills this morning.  
(a couple of months ago, she’d stayed over at Nicole’s for a little too long, and had completely forgotten to take them. When she realized she hadn’t taken them for four days, she had a very ridiculous meltdown, involving her being sure her hands were hairier for about a month.  
Nicole asked her every morning since then).  
And then she asks if Waverly can pick up a few books for her, which she does.  
She thinks nothing of it.  
***  
When Nicole reads her Angela Davis before bed, hand caressing her hair, Waverly thinks it’s a little funny, but she doesn’t dwell on it.  
(she’s distracted, too. Her legs still shake and her stomach shivers with the memory of wetness).  
***  
She realizes there’s something wrong when Nicole takes less care ironing her uniform, and when dark circles taint her fair skin. She holds herself a little less confidently, a little less proud, and Waverly feels sick to her stomach.  
***  
When Nicole comes pick her up from the library after work, Waverly frowns.  
“You’re not in uniform,” she says blankly, closing the car door and leaning to press a kiss to Nicole’s cheek.  
Nicole smiles at her.  
“I just changed,” she shrugs, “aren’t we going for dinner?”  
Waverly nods, and says nothing else.  
***  
When they started dating, she used to be a little bothered with just how often the taller woman was in uniform. She’d gotten used to it, of course, and the obsessive ironing and polishing of boots became part of her life, too, the same as the estradiol pills which sat on Nicole’s nightstand and Waverly’s endless ramblings about archiving and Purgatory’s history had become part of Nicole’s.  
***  
“Who’s playing again?”  
Wynonna huffs, throwing a tiny pink pillow on Waverly’s head.  
(she misses).  
“Arsenal and Paris Saint-German,” she tells her sister, rolling her eyes.  
Nicole places her hand on Waverly’s knee.  
“Why do you guys care so much about european teams?”  
John Henry sighs, slow and deliberate.  
“It’s the Premier League, Waverly,” he tells her.  
She doesn’t know what that means, but she decides to keep sipping on her wine.  
“A girl who doesn’t know anything about sports is such a cliché, Waves,” Wynonna tells her for the hundredth time.   
“A drunk who co-owns a bar is so cliché, Wynonna,” Waverly bites back.  
Nicole chuckles.   
***  
She’d forgotten about it, really, until she’s in Nicole’s bathroom, brushing her teeth in her underwear.   
Nicole rests her chin on the top of her head, smiling.  
“You remember what Wynonna said before?” she asks, hands resting on Waverly’s shoulders.   
Her eyes flick to the scar on Waverly’s thigh for a second, as they often did.  
“She says a lot of things,” Waverly manages through the toothbrush.   
Nicole smiles.  
“About you not liking sports,” she supplies.  
Waverly nods.   
“Was that like… on purpose?”  
Waverly rinses her mouth, turning around with a cocked eyebrow.  
“What do you mean?”   
“You know, just,” Nicole shrugs, “you’re very… feminine. Obnoxiously so,” she adds with a smile, and Waverly giggles.  
“What about it?”  
“I don’t know,” Nicole shrugs, following her back to the bedroom, “I was thinking about that. The other day, I was reading on how trans women do that for like… protection I guess?”  
“Oh,” Waverly says with a small smile.  
Nicole rarely discussed those things with her. She was not one to tiptoe around her gender, of course. She asked Waverly questions about her preferences and her dysphoria, endlessly determined to keep her as comfortable as possible.  
It was rarely ever… political.   
“It was more of a concern when I was younger” she shrugs, “it’s easier for other people to believe you’re a woman if you… act like they expect you to”.  
Nicole nods, thoughtful, and Waverly breathes out a laugh.  
“I’m not forcing anything, though,” she grins, “I’m just that into pink”.  
Nicole laughs.   
“I’d never really thought about that,” Nicole says wistfully, “how much thought you guys have to put into… everything”.  
Waverly places her hands on her cheeks.  
“Since when are you so philosophical?”  
Nicole shrugs, a half smile gracing her features.  
***  
She comes back from work smelling of stale smoke, and Waverly asks her if everything’s okay.  
Nicole smiles. Of course, she says, and the way she says it makes it sound like it’s an obligation.   
Waverly insists, and she says she’s just been thinking.   
She doesn’t expand on what she’s thinking about.  
***  
“When did you learn how to read?” Wynonna Earp asks, slamming a beer bottle over the wooden rail of the Homestead’s front porch.  
Nicole looks up from her book, eyebrow raised, and Waverly clicks her tongue beside her, putting down Bataille’s Erotism.   
“Why? You want me to teach you?” Nicole asks her, though her tone is too playful to hold any spite.  
Wynonna grins, sitting on the railing and sipping on her bottle.  
“You two are so boring,” she grunts, “go have sex or something”.  
Waverly rolls her eyes.  
“We were until you-”  
“Nicole!” Waverly cuts her off.  
Wynonna groans.   
“Spare me the details, Paw Patrol”.  
It’s strange, but Waverly swears she can feel Nicole’s muscles tightening before she relaxes again.  
“You know Nadeem Basira?” Nicole asks suddenly, “who works at the market?”  
Waverly hums. He was always quite sweet to her, even back when she was in high school.  
“We arrested him yesterday,” Nicole says, voice low.   
Waverly gasps.  
“What?”  
Wynonna only widens her eyes.  
Nicole laughs a dry sort of laugh, sandpaper rubbing against Waverly’s skin.  
“Drug paraphernalia,” she explains, and it is bitter.   
“Did someone bail him out?” Wynonna asks.   
“His mom, I think,” Nicole says.   
Waverly doesn’t really know what to say.  
“Isn’t it weird?” the woman mumbles after a moment, “I know for a fact Wynonna has drugs in her bedroom, yet…” she gestures broadly.  
She looks tired.  
***  
So, really, Waverly should’ve seen it coming.  
***  
When she walks inside Nicole’s house on a Friday night, purposely making enough noise to let the woman know she’s arrived, Nicole is standing in her living room, a cardboard box at her feet.  
She wears jeans and a T-shirt, and Waverly knows something is wrong.  
She stands, staring at her girlfriend, and Nicole stares back, nodding once to herself.  
“I quit,” she says flatly.   
Waverly drops her keys, and the metallic sound reverberates against every wall.   
“What?”  
“You’re now dating a civilian,” Nicole says, a strange smile stretching on her face.  
“What do you mean you quit?”   
Nicole shrugs.  
“I mean I quit”.  
“Why?” Waverly almost yells.  
And it’s almost comical, the look Nicole gives her.   
You know why, it says.   
“You didn’t even- You didn’t say anything!”  
Nicole shrugs again, eerily calm.  
“I thought you were picking up on it,” she says simply, “besides…”  
She trails off, uncomfortable.  
“Not my business,” Waverly adds for her.  
Nicole gives her a coy look.  
“I was just… I did a lot of thinking. You know I’m not very good with… verbalizing these things”.  
Waverly supposes she does know.  
She sits down beside her.  
“Are you okay?” she asks, placing a hand on Nicole’s knee.  
The woman breathes in, and the air seems to be water.  
“I am,” she says, “I’m… relieved, really”.  
Waverly nods.  
***  
“I think I’m going to miss the uniform,” Waverly says the very next day.  
Nicole laughs.  
“I still have the handcuffs, though,” she says with a wink.  
Waverly blushes, and she thanks God for his eternal kindness.   
***  
Because Wynonna Earp is Wynonna Earp, she throws Nicole a party.  
She buys a gender reveal banner which states “it’s a boy!” in bright blue letters, and she asks Waverly for a red marker. When she’s finished, it reads “it’s not a cop!”, the word boy crossed out and the negative written vertically.  
It’s barely legible, really.  
Nicole laughs so much she almost cries when she sees it.  
Waverly still feels a strange sense of betrayal. She’d learned Wynonna was the first person to know about Nicole’s change of heart, had learned she’d encouraged it, had learned she’d picked Nicole up from the Station and taken her out for lunch the day she told Nedley she was leaving.  
She picks up her glass of wine and walks outside, sitting on their old, rusted swing, the echoes of Mercedes’ voice following her.  
“Are you mad, pretty lady?”  
Waverly looks up, startled, and Nicole smiles sheepishly.  
“What? No!”  
Nicole grins.  
“You can say it, you know,” she shrugs, “if you are”.  
Waverly sighs.  
“I know,” she groans, “I’m not… mad. Just… processing it”.  
Nicole sits down beside her, arm over her shoulders and pulling her close.  
“You wanna know why I told Wynonna?” she asks carefully, because she knows Waverly too well.  
Waverly says nothing.  
“You know she never… liked my job,” Nicole says lowly, and the word job is spat out, sour, “I think I was just… scared you’d convince me otherwise”.  
“I’d never tell you what to do,” Waverly reminds her, voice icy.  
“I know,” Nicole sighs, “but, you know, you’re real smart,” she chuckles, “I guess I just… didn’t know how to explain it to you. Wynonna’s… easy”.  
“It’s not like I love the police,” Waverly tells her.  
“Baby,” Nicole smiles, “Nedley arrested Wynonna for throwing pebbles at his cruiser when she was seventeen,” she chuckles, “I knew she’d support it”.  
“It was just… sudden”.  
Nicole considers it.  
“Was it?”  
Waverly supposes it wasn’t.  
Not really.  
***  
Waverly thinks often about transitions.  
She was forced to do it, at first, but with time, she’d realized she was quite fond of change.   
She’d changed, the way she saw herself, the way others saw her, and it was nice. There was freedom in it.  
Comfort.  
***  
For a while, Nicole is jobless. She feels terribly sorry for herself, and she’s still smoking too much, and Waverly is getting a little fed up with it.   
She liked it better when she was the one doing the moping.  
“You know,” Waverly says one day, nails tapping against Nicole’s kitchen counter as the woman cooks them dinner, “I chose being… Waverly”.  
“Huh?”  
Waverly snorts.  
“I used to think I had no choice,” she shrugs, “but I kinda did, didn’t I?”  
Nicole frowns, staring her down.  
“Did you?”  
Waverly shrugs once again, small smile forming in her lips.  
“Of course”.  
“So not being absolutely miserable like you were before was… an option?” Nicole raises an eyebrow, “I don’t think that’s how choices work”.  
Waverly sighs.  
“Some are easier,” she says simply, almost offhandedly, “my choice was. I still choose it, too”.  
“Easy?”  
“You know what I mean, Nicole,” she grunts, “it was easy to choose because the other option for me was death. The consequences are just… consequences”.  
Nicole stares at her, and Waverly almost laughs at the confusion on her face.  
“Is this supposed to make sense?” the taller woman asks.  
Waverly giggles.  
“It’s supposed to mean,” she takes a deep breath, “stop moping around like your world just ended”.  
Nicole raises both eyebrows.  
“I’m not moping!”  
Waverly crosses her arms across her chest.  
“Maybe a little!” Nicole grunts, “am I not allowed?”  
“Of course you are,” Waverly sighs, pulling the woman against her. “Just… think about the other option, yeah?”  
“Death?” Nicole asks, bitter.  
Waverly hums.   
“Murder,” Nicole corrects herself.  
They’re silent for a moment, and the sizzling of the pans is obnoxiously loud around them.  
“You made the right choice,” Waverly tells her before pressing a kiss against her cheek, “remember that”.  
Nicole nods.  
***  
For the very first time, Waverly manages to convince Nicole to go to Purgatory Pride with her.


End file.
